Disclaimer and Warning from here to rest of story: This story is The Breakfast Club centred but it will feature characters from John Hughes's other movies because I'm trying not to do OCs. This will be very politically incorrect in places because the 80s were and so are these characters and I'm trying to keep in character.

'Youth Novels'

Chapter One

John caught sight of his two day old black eye in the rear view mirror. Deep blotches of red and purple superimposed the fading yellow bruise like an angry ugly birthmark. He put on his sunglasses, turned the key in the ignition and set off in his grey van, down along the long narrow driveway leading away from the Farm and them, and out onto the road.

Soon the disgruntled shrubbery and broken pavements gave way to rows of neatly planted trees. John took a left onto Shermer Road and onto streets lined with beautifully painted mail boxes. He tried not to think about the sharp pain that shot up his right side every time he pressed his cigarette to his lips. It was better to listen to Iron Maiden and to think of red hair and diamonds, and to watch the husbands and the working Moms hurry from their perfect homes. Shermer was one of those towns travelling salesmen and new divorcees liked to stop in as they passed through. It was nowhere's asshole and a perfectly bleached one at that. The local 7-11 even had a selection of postcards featuring images of Shermer landmarks with the town slogan, "Shermer: A real town" printed alongside whatever that meant.

As he pulled up beside a small white semi-detached house with an American flag flying proudly above a wheelchair ramp, he beeped the horn and waited. He had to wait, Duncan's parents hated him. Duncan's Dad had even hauled him out of the house by the collar one time he hated him so much. It wasn't proper for a good Greek family like the Papoulias to hate their son so they hated John instead.

The red front door flew open and out swaggered Duncan in his black leather studded vest jacket and red laced Doc Martins. John had always been envious of that jacket. Duncan's Mom had bought it for him back when she was still strong enough to walk. The only time he ever took it off was when he was gearing for a fight.

"It's bullshit, Bender!" The boy announced as he got into the front passenger seat.

John rolled his tongue across his teeth, smoked his cigarette and felt the pain run up his side like little men stomping down with red hot steal capped boots. There was dried foam from the morning's shave still stuck to the side of Duncan's bald head and a Marlboro burning between his fingers. Duncan didn't like to smoke cigarettes, he preferred to hold one while it smoked itself.

"I saw The Grave Diggers at the Warehouse Saturday night," he spat bitterly. "First time I've seen them since Tea turned into a colossal dickhead. Guess who their new drummer is? Watts. I never thought anyone could be worse than Peter Criss but low and behold, she is shit. It was so bad I had to down half a bottle of Jack in order to console myself-"

"You're no longer in that crap band, why do you care that she makes them sound even worse?" replied John shortly.

"It's like if Nico McBrain replaced his entire 24 piece drum kit with a fucking bongo!" exploded the boy and John sighed. "I was the only thing they had going for them. I helped write the songs-"

"Shitty punk songs."

Duncan scowled. "What'd you know? You don't know anything about punk!"

"S'not true," A taunting smirk formed on John's lips in anticipation. "I know punk died the day The Clash signed to CBS."

And Duncan was off just like he knew he'd be, cursing him out for being an ignorant asshole as the cigarette in his hand burned dangerously close to his fingers. John didn't care. Minor Threat could go fuck themselves as could Black Flag and every word the Dead Kennedy's had ever written. Duncan could go fuck himself too but it was more amusing to watch him rant. He had these big heavy lidded brown eyes, thick black eyebrows and overall good natured face that quickly turned into a snarling, spitting terrier when angered.

"-And you know shit cause real punk never even made it outta the underground!" Duncan said delivering the final blow.

"They did, they sold out and that is why punk is dead."

"Not real punk," muttered the boy sulkily. "What's metal about? Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll? That's shallow!"

John glared at him. "Metal's true message has always and will always be in the sound and the fucking awesome guitar solos. Course, I wouldn't expect you to get it because punks can't play their instruments."

"That's bullshit! Sid Vicious is the only one who couldn't play and you know that!"

"So the rest of them are musically retarded by choice then?"

"It's not about fancy guitar solos! It's about sheading all the excess crap you find in the music industry and going back to the basics."

"Ah! So that would explain why the Clash signed to CBS."

"Oh fuck off, Jew Nose!"

John grinned triumphantly. He let Duncan sulk until they reached the end of the street before he caved. John didn't like silence. Senior was always telling him to shut up to be quiet… 'Don't dare open that mouth or I'll shut it for you, boy.'

"At least tell me you punched Tea," he said eventually.

The punk let out a long wistful sigh. "Not yet but it will be a moment for the history books when I do," he promised and John knew it to be true. As far as Duncan Papoulias was concerned the world deserved whatever he gave it; it was the reason why they were friends to begin with.

"Get this though!" his laugh was back. "You know that wimpy art faggot Watts is always hangin' around with? He tried to jump me cause I told her she was shit. The guy weighs about a hundred and twenty pounds. I ended up droppin' it after I got him on the ground. Wasn't worth my time… Speaking of which; how was your date with the Dick?"

John rolled his tongue over his teeth. Saturday… He'd have had better luck explaining it to Garth and that was being optimistic.

"He gave me eight Saturday detentions."

His friend sat up to attention. "For real?"

John nodded. "Good thing I don't have anything more important to do with my life… If I wanted to lose my weekends, I'd start marking the stupid Shabbat again."

Duncan let out a low whistle, his thick eyebrows knitting together to make a very ugly caterpillar. "How'd you manage to get eight?"

"He said he was doing society a favour."

"Man, he really hates you."

Dick did hate him and John hated him back but it was more than that. John could have told Duncan that he'd asked for them. It would've made Duncan laugh but John wasn't in the mood to be laughed at that morning. There were raised welts and multi-coloured bruises up and down his back and across his ribs. It hurt to bend over. It hurt to smoke. So he kept quiet and occasionally sought a glimpse of a diamond reflected in his wing mirror.

"He also took it upon himself to call my folks personally and tell 'em the good news-" John went on and Duncan grimaced. "Reinette had to give me a note for gym this morning after she chewed me up for her busted up lip─ Fucking blood problems, Dee."

It was Duncan's cue to drop the subject. 'Blood problems' meant it was time to talk about something better. 'Blood problems' were things that no one could change, things that it wasn't worth wasting the time it took talking about them. Garth had come up with it one night, buzzed up on pills and fed up with Arnie and his dead Dad and his sister who was always out around town spreading her legs.

"Two months though," then Duncan clicked his fingers together. "How about you go to the Guidance Counsellor and say you are being discriminated against. Say you wanna mark the Shabbat but can't because of detention. I'm serious! WASPs eat that shit up and I bet they'll be too busy feeling guilty about the Holocaust to reschedule the detentions."

John thought about it and then he remembered how much he hated going to Synagogue, even the idea of pretending to annoyed him. The only good thing about Reinette was that she never attempted to force her Southern Baptist agenda down his throat; although she still made them celebrate Christmas for God knows whatever reason. It's not like the Bender family were in the habit of exchanging gifts.

"You know my old man's entire extended family back in Europe died in the Holocaust?" he remarked.

Duncan's eyes widened. "…Seriously?"

John couldn't keep his face straight long. As the smirk began to crack across his lips, Duncan let out a stunned laugh. "Goddamnit Bender! Even for you that's low!"

John shrugged. "They probably did?" he replied callously. "Fuck 'em and fuck him, I don't care!" Then his eyes caught sight of the spectacle standing on the curb up ahead. "─ Christ."

John had to shake back a laugh: Brian Johnson was waiting for the bus beside a large cardboard box with his name on it. He looked like the Alpha Aryan Nerd in his red sweater vest and ill fitted beige chinos. His mother had probably bought the pants in the hope that he'd grow into them. Brian however had grown upwards rather than outwards and now the leg hems barely grazed his ankles.

'…Why don't you take Allison to one of your heavy metal vomit parties? Or take Brian out to the parking lot at lunch to get high? What about Andy for that matter, what about me?!'

On what John later said was a whim, he suddenly swerved sideways, ignoring Duncan's shout of alarm. Brian's jaw dropped as he rolled down the window.

"Are we having our yearbook photo taken today, Brian?" John nodded to the boy's outfit.

"Bender?" he asked, astonished. His eyes lighting up like the Fourth of July.

"Nice pants, dork!" jeered Duncan. "Did your Mom dress you?"

John hid his amusement behind a glare. "Do you mind? I'm talkin' here." He turned back to the boy. "Did she?"

The initial pleasure at being acknowledged gave way to embarrassment. Brian's ears reddened, he gestured to the box. "No, it's the Science Fair today─ She wanted me to wear a suit," he added with a sheepish grin as John and Duncan roared with laughter. "…Do I really look that bad?"

"Like a nerdy piñata stuffed full of lunch money."

The boy ran a hand hurriedly through his hair, his blue eyes reflected tales of mechanical elephants and flare guns and worst of all the image of John's own face. They turned his stomach and he began to wonder why he had stopped at all… 'What about me?!' Claire's words echoed over and over again.

"The kids on the bus are gonna string you up from the rails the second they get a look at you…" John paused. "Unless I give you a ride."

"To school?"

"No, to fucking Disney World," he replied sarcastically. "How much money you got?"

Brian's face fell. "Er-"

"I'm screwin' with you. Get in─ What?!" he said to Duncan's comically arched eyebrow. "I adopted a pet during detention."

Brian climbed in beside Duncan and sat down. His arms clasped protectively around the box on his lap. John glanced inside. All he could see were plastic bottles filled with different shades of disgusting green liquid and a lot of plastic tubes: hardly the fine china Brian was treating it to be.

"What you got there?" asked Duncan.

"It's algae. Please be careful of-"

But Duncan had already taken out a plastic bottle and was unscrewing the lid. John rolled his eyes as the boy took a long whiff and gagged. "Christ! It reeks worse than an eighty year old's pussy!"

"How'd you know what that smells like?" asked John.

"Cause I fucked your Grandma last night."

"No wonder it smelled bad, my Bubbe's been dead eleven years."

Brian choked down a laugh as Duncan glared at him. "I was just- I wasn't laughing at you. I remembered something stupid, nothing to do with you," babbled Brian. "…Can I have it back, please?" he gestured to the bottle.

Duncan held it further out of reach. "Hey Bender!" he was grinning like an idiot. "Ten bucks I can drink the whole thing!"

The blond turned to John in silent pleading desperation and John pursed his lips together. As much as he hated to admit it, there was an element of truth to Claire's accusations about his friends being assholes. They had their reasons though and nice kids like Brian were part of them. John had seen the smug look of superiority reflected in a nerd's eyes too many times to count.

"I'm not giving you ten bucks just so you can barf all over my van!" he snapped. "Put it back in the box or I'm putting you out. And you-" he pointed at Brian. "-grow some balls!"

Brian gave a dumb nod of surprise.

"My apologies for offending your boyfriend," Duncan mocked but he screwed the cap back on and put the bottle in the box. "I didn't realise he was so sensitive."

"I know you're only doing it cause you wanna fuck him, you greasy Greek faggot," retorted John.

"Sorry to disappoint you both but I only go for blondes," interjected Brian so quietly that if it weren't for Duncan's startled laugh, John wouldn't have been sure he heard him.

It made him chuckle too. Finally, he was learning. "So why didn't Mr Johnson give you a ride this morning with your wares?" He gestured to the box. "Have a domestic?"

Brian carefully rearranged the bottles, checking each lid was secure. "Kinda," he replied. "I told him on Sunday that I'm taking the bus from now on-"

"I know your Dad being a teacher has already got you marked as lunch bait-" began John.

"Your Dad's a teacher?!" Duncan laughed at Brian's flustered face.

"It's a job! So what?" the kid replied, remembering John's order. Duncan raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"-but you're gonna be eaten alive on the bus, Dweebie," John finished.

"I'd rather that then have to drive anywhere with him," replied the boy bitterly. "He and Mom think I should've been studying during that detention. He knows you can't study in detention."

John struck a match off his steering wheel and lit up a cigarette before offering the pack and the matches to Brian in an act of solidarity. The boy took them. His long fingers fumbled with the matches and he coughed and spluttered as he inhaled a cloud of nicotine for the first time. Still, he persevered with all the determination of a newbie delinquent. John decided not to rib him for it. If a good kid like Brian went off the rails, his parents deserved everything they got.

"Well, it looks like you're gonna be hitching a ride with me from now on," said John and then his face split into a wide grin. "Your parents are gonna love that. Didn't you tell 'em you were too busy doing that stupid essay to even try studying?" he asked, suddenly remembering it.

Not that it mattered that he'd forgotten, he wouldn't have done it anyway but in remembering it, John remembered once again what had happened in the storage closet with Claire. How she had leaned into him when he cupped her chin and kissed her. Her lips had been soft and willing and tasted of high class lipstick… He wondered if she'd still want to kiss him now that Monday had arrived. If she didn't he'd really have to do something to get her attention and this time, keep it on him for good. It was driving him half-crazy just thinking that she wouldn't want to.

Brian's wheezing cough brought him back to focus. The boy's eyes were filled with rage as dense as the plumes of cigarette smoke escaping from between his lips.

"They didn't care," he swallowed. "…Did Claire tell you that I signed it for all of you?" he then asked him. "I even sighed for Allison although technically I didn't need to."

John's throat tightened at Claire's name. "…Allison's something else," he agreed distractedly. "Well, seeming as I shared some of my personal stash with you, you owed me so we can call it even."

Brian grinned. "Have you spoken to-?"

"You guys got high on Dick's watch?"

They looked at Duncan in surprise. John had forgotten he was sitting between them. Judging by the expression on his face, whatever reservations Duncan had in regards to Brian were beginning to dissipate.

"Right under his nose!" John cackled triumphantly. "Tell the man about it, Dweebie."

"We smoked up in the library," began Brian. "We had to sneak out to Bender's locker to get the-the… dope and we nearly got-" He jumped in surprise as Duncan let out a hearty cheer of approval.

After that, Duncan became less hostile towards Brian but the conversation still dropped and stumbled in places like a newly born giraffe trying to find its legs. Eventually they found a common interest in Monty Python and John was subjected to intermitted squawks of 'Jehovah' after they discovered that their bad English impersonations annoyed him. He swore at them, hit them and forgot all about checking the curb as they turned onto Garth's street. A well timed groan from Duncan saved him from making a serious mistake: Garth was waiting for them, the bong he'd made from a model toy submarine back in the eighth grade glued to his lips. Arnie was back home it seemed.

John quickly lowered the music. The curtains were still drawn at the front of Garth's house but that meant jackshit when it came to Arnie. Knowing him, he was probably hiding behind the rose bushes on the front lawn, hatchet at the ready.

"… Do you think he's awake?" asked Duncan nervously.

"Don't fucking jinx it!"

"What's going on?" asked Brian.

"Nothing," John lied.

They were still a good ten yards from Garth. John beeped the horn to draw his attention and kept a wary eye on the house. He didn't even crack a smile when Garth whacked himself in the mouth with the bong in surprise.

"Hurry up!" he ordered, leaning out the window.

Garth gave him a vague salute in response. He looked terrible but then again Garth usually did. His dark hair was greasy and sticking up all over the place. His face was drawn and his hazel eyes dilated and red rimmed from a night spent sitting on the curb, crying and getting high. He looked past John to his seat usurper.

"His name's Brian," Duncan mussed Brian's hair playfully. "He's our new pet."

Brian was eyeing Garth warily and it struck John that he'd heard of him. Most people had, Shermer was a close knit community and Garth had the worst rap out of the three of them thanks to Arnie. It was small realisations like that which John grateful for the age gap between him and his eight older siblings.

The glazed look in Garth's eyes indicated that he was on another planet entirely. "You can't keep people as pets, Dee," he chided with stoner sincerity as he raised the bong to his lips. "That's… that's slavery that's what that is."

"Can it and get in, Thomas Jefferson!" hissed John.

There was still no sign of movement in the windows but John didn't want to waste any more time. He slammed his foot on the accelerator the second Garth climbed in the back. It wasn't until they were two blocks away that he could breathe calmly again. Arnie was a goddamn psycho second only to Senior.

"Man, I…" Garth had sprawled himself out on the old battered mattress on the floor in the back like a starfish.

"Having a bit of trouble there, Garth?" asked Duncan.

"I wanna lie down flatter─ Oh! ...Damn!" And he doubled over with senseless laughter. In the front, the three boys laughed at him.

"Hey Garth!" John called. "What've you had to smoke?"

"…Bags."

"Bags?" he smirked at Brian. Duncan's shoulders shook. "What type of bags, Garth? Plastic bags? Sandwich bags? Brown paper bags?"

"It was a plas-" Garth caught himself on. "…What's with the questions, man? You sold it to me."

Duncan howled as they tore down the road to school, Brian's bottles rattling together, Bruce Dickinson's voice roaring out the window at full blast while the good people of Shermer hurried out into the approaching day.

Monday morning got off to a perfect start. Claire picked out a crisp cream Ralph Lauren blouse and her brand new navy Christian Dior woollen slacks to go with her gold buckled belt, tan loafers and single diamond earring. She brushed her hair and lined her lips with lipstick, sprayed herself with Chanel No.5. She ate fruit and Greek yogurt in the drawing room overlooking the water feature that her late Great Grandfather had imported from Italy while her mother drank her first Bloody Mary of the day and her father silently held out his cup for the maid to fill.

There was no fight that morning, not a word passed between them. Claire would've preferred a fight. She wanted to hear the sound of plates smashing. Sometimes she imagined what would happen if she smashed the plates herself. Her parents would most certainly think she'd lost her mind. They didn't know was that she had already lost it somewhere between an unauthorized shopping trip and a diamond clasped in the palm of a bad boy.

One look was all her father needed to know he hated John. Claire didn't mind, that had been the objective in kissing him against the hood of his car after all. There had been no fights so far, just disapproval. Claire knew the real fights would come later. When the sound of Shayne's car horn beeped outside, the man peered over his newspaper at her.

"Is that boy picking you up?"

"Of course not, Daddy. Shayne is," she replied and he smiled in relief. Claire kissed both him and her mother goodbye and grabbed her coat and bag. "But I'll be seeing him in school. Bye."

"You're still grounded, Claire!"

"Oh honestly, Roger!" She heard her mother cry as she opened the front door. "She's already been punished enough-"

Claire rolled her eyes. Once again the roles had reversed. Her parents had become the Freaky Friday version of Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde and she was the impure ingredient that facilitated the switch over. No doubt when Sylvia met John her opinion for once would be perfectly aligned with her husband's. After all, John was absolutely outstanding in his capacity at getting back at people.

Shayne's white jeep was waiting at the steps to the large Châteauesque style mansion, her curly haired best friend seated behind the wheel. Claire waved to her with a smile and closed the door on her parents' fight. Even if Shayne couldn't hear them, it was embarrassing to know they were fighting while there were other people in close proximity.

"I love your slacks, Claire! Are those new?" Shayne announced as she walked down the steps.

"Christian Dior," she climbed in the passenger seat as Shayne started the engine and they took off past the rows of artfully pruned Douglas firs and the acre of perfectly mowed front lawn.

"Hi Caroline," she greeted the blue eyed blonde beauty admiring herself in her compact mirror in the back.

Claire had often thought Caroline had the capacity to be perfect if she really tried. That Monday morning however, she realised that Shayne and her standards of perfection were not necessarily what everyone else desired.

There was a click as Caroline closed over her compact. "Amanda's getting a ride with Hardy," she explained at Claire's questioning look over the empty seat beside her. "So did you buy your new slacks on your skipping trip?"

There was an amused tone in her voice. Claire wasn't surprised. Caroline probably found the whole thing hilarious, especially the detention part.

"I did," she replied.

"They're cute," Caroline reopened her compact again and began flicking her hair to the side. Claire could see a hickey at the nape of her neck; that meant Shayne had seen it too. She would corner Claire in the bathroom later to bitch about it. Allison was right; it was a trap either way. "You know you could have just gone shopping with us on Saturday to get them rather than putting yourself through detention," she added.

Shayne gave a nod of agreement. "Honestly, Claire! I can't believe you skipped. You never skip."

"I can't believe you skipped alone," scoffed Caroline. "Where's the fun in that? Ferris always brings Sloane along when he skips."

"I'm not Ferris," she told her and Caroline raised her eyebrows in agreement. "I guess I just wanted to be alone."

"Well, next time check in before you go all Greta Garbo. Shayne threw a total fit when you didn't turn up to Economics."

"I did not have a fit, I was merely concerned! Everyone was worried about Claire other than you!" Shayne snapped scathingly before turning to her best friend. "Amanda was as worried as I was. Even Blane was asking about you-"

"Blane is hardly everyone," interjected Claire as the uncomfortable sensation of déjà vu echoed back in the sound of John's mocking voice, 'Queenie isn't here today!'

"No kidding!" muttered Caroline. "He is so boring it makes me want to cry."

Claire ignored her. "-And besides, it's not like skipping class is a big deal. People do it all the time! Like Ferris! He skips all the time and nobody raises an eyebrow."

"Claire, you don't skip is the point," said Shayne patiently.

"Clearly I've always had the capacity to because I did skip!" She leaned back in the seat, annoyed. For all her good intentions, Shayne was exactly the type of friend who knew how to heap the pressure on. Sometimes Claire wondered if her intentions were good at all. Sometimes she felt stifled by her. The look of surprise that passed between the two girls didn't go unnoticed by her. Perhaps she was being unkind.

"…Sorry," she said after a moment. "…My parents had this like massive fight and it was my fault. I ranked up two thousand dollars on my credit card bill during one shop at Ralph Lauren last month. Mom threw a total freaker. She was going to make me bring everything back but my Dad told her he'd just go buy them for me again if she made me."

"It's great he backed you up," said Shayne, thinking she was being sympathetic. "Two thousand is ridiculous cheap for a shop at Ralph Lauren. That's basically the least amount you can spend at once."

"Why does your Mom even care?" asked Caroline. "Your family are like the richest in the state. A couple of thousand is nothing to them."

"It's not about…" Claire sighed. "The day I skipped, I passed the five thousand dollar limit my Mom put on my card and when my Dad found out, he extended the limit up to one hundred thousand."

"So what's the problem?" asked Shayne. Behind her, Caroline was staring at her with a similar confused expression.

Claire considered explaining to them that it didn't matter what she did right or wrong, her parents were never happy with her or each other. Being a good girl didn't work and it was clear all the credit card bills and clothes in the world weren't going to make them behave the way she needed them to either.

Her friends might have understood but Claire knew that it would be more fun to leave her troubles in the hands of a boy with a bad reputation. That first kiss to his collar bone had been a curiosity. She had wanted to know what he'd do when he was forced to see her in a different light. Now she knew and now she wanted more and she wasn't about to let anyone try to change her mind about it.

"Forget it."

Shayne tried a few more times to drag it out of her but eventually she gave up and talk turned to Stubby's party. Claire was glad she hadn't made an appearance. It sounded as boring as watching paint dry. So much for Andrew's assertion that it was going to be wild!

"Was Andrew Clarke there?" she asked.

"Why? Are you interested?" teased Caroline.

"Hardly," Claire replied. She liked her boys wild and loud with danger in their eyes. "He was in Saturday detention. We made friends."

"Claire's like totally out of Andrew's league anyway," Shayne rolled her eyes. "What was he in for?"

"I don't know," she lied, remembering the skin and the hair that had been pulled off when they took the plaster away. "Andrew wouldn't want me even if I was interested," she said, feeling the compulsion to correct Shayne. "He's got a girlfriend…" she paused. It was better now than never. "And I'm sort of seeing John Bender anyway."

There was a pause.

"Who's John Bender?" asked Shayne but Caroline's eyes widened.

"As in Bender Bender from our school?" Her mouth fell open. "Oh my God, Claire that is… You are aware he's got a criminal record?!"

"Wait!" The penny had dropped. Shayne was staring at her like she'd been replaced by an alien. "Have you lost your fucking mind?!"

"Your parents are going to flip!" Caroline was practically howling with laughter.

"I'm glad you think this is so amusing, Caroline," Shayne glared at her. "Claire! He's an asshole! And a drug dealer! And he listens to Heavy Metal! Only wife beaters and Satanists listen to Heavy Metal; fact!"

Claire sat and waited as Shayne listed off every reason why she shouldn't speak to John let alone breathe the same air as him: He dressed terribly. He'd fuck her and leave her. He'd fuck her and he'd get her pregnant and then he'd leave her. He'd cheat on her. He was poor. He'd scab money off her. He got into fights (that was why he was always bruised looking). He was a bully. Her parents would hate him. Her friends all hated him. Nobody liked him. He was a no one; a waste. The more she went on, the more upset Claire became. She had to keep reminding herself that it didn't matter what anyone thought; she had the right to stand up and like whomever it was she wanted to like.

"-People will lose so much respect for you," Shayne rounded off. "I mean, they're going to think you're a bitch for dating him."

"Then they never had much respect for me in the first place," she burst out, finally. It hurt to hear people talk about him like that. Claire blinked back the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "It's not like going out with John is going to make me a different person."

"It might make you lose your shot at becoming Prom Queen," piped up Caroline. She looked bored already by the conversation.

Claire bit her lip. Before Saturday, being Prom Queen was supposed to be the crowning achievement of her High School career. It was all she'd wanted to be in High School since she was a little girl.

"I'd rather be Prom Queen because I'm well liked and not because I'm well known," she said.

"Well, you certainly won't be liked if you're going out with Bender," warned Shayne.

"Then I'll have to try harder to make people like me, won't I?" The tears fell regardless.

Shayne softened. "Claire, honey, you don't really want to go out with a guy like Bender. You can do so much better than a guy like him. He's basically low grade white trash."

"That's a really nice thing to call someone you don't know," Claire snapped, feeling her anger raise its head. She dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. Caroline reached over and handed her a handkerchief. "He's fine once you get to know him," she said. "I like him, I'm not asking you to but I'm asking you to respect my decision."

Shayne pursed her lips together. "You're going to lose friends over this."

Claire stared at her, suddenly seeing her properly for the first time. "Is that a threat, Shayne?"

"Of course not," replied the girl huffily. "Why'd you even say that? You and I are going to be friends forever!"

But Claire had felt the first string snap between them. She had seen it in Shayne's eyes when she spoke; that look of fear. She turned to Caroline in sudden panic and the girl gave her a sympathetic look as if to say, 'Can you believe the nerve of that bitch has saying that to you?'

To be continued…